One year ago, as the morning started sunny and beautiful, capping the weekend of a family celebration, we received the news; you were no longer a part of our world. We gathered in the room with you. You seemed so peaceful. Your body, though unmoving, curled comfortably in sleep, your hand under your chin, as if in the happiest of dreams. I remember kneeling at your side, my face pressed to yours, begging you to open your eyes. Please, please, open your eyes. It was unimaginable that you could have moved on to a place beyond our sight and touch. Even now, it’s just as inconceivable that an entire year has passed without you in our lives. I have been comforted by the fact that you left peacefully, just as you had asked God for. And I also take solace that despite not having the chance to hold your first great-grandchild, there were no umbrages left in your wake — no arguments or bad feelings, no should-haves, wish-I-would-haves, remaining between us. I’m certain you knew I loved you a
It’s been a whirlwind six months for my family. This past fall, my daughter surprised the family with the happy news that she was pregnant with our first grandchild—the first baby on my side of the family in twenty-something years! We immediately called my 89-year-old mother in Florida to share the news and let her know that her wish to become a great-grandmother was coming true! Weeks later, the whole family reunited in New Jersey to celebrate my nephew’s wedding. That Saturday, we laughed and danced welcoming a lovely woman into our growing family. Mom was the only surviving grandparent at the wedding, and she got to see my daughter beautifully blossoming with pregnancy, cute baby bump and all. Mom, six months shy of 90, and usually spunky and talkative, wasn’t herself that day. She complained of being cold and shivered throughout the celebration. But it was fall in New Jersey, we reasoned, and Mom, after nearly 30 years in Florida, was unused to the chilly northern temps that di